Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin #2)(77)
Author: Robin LaFevers

It is not until I dismount and hand my reins to Yannic that I see the marques. There, on that man-at-arm’s brow—a man whose name I do not even know. Winnog too is marqued, I see, as he walks by and gives me a jaunty wave. Alarm clangs through me like a bell.

My gaze searches among the camp for the greenlings. I find them just beyond the clearing, practicing their skills. Henri and Claude also bear marques. As does Jacques. More than a dozen men bear the marque, and cold understanding creeps along my skin.

Ismae was right. These men cannot all be traitors to our country. Nor does it make sense for Mortain to have marqued them all at once if I am to be the one to kill them. It can only mean they are to die. Tonight, or more likely on the morrow, during our assault on Morlaix.

Even though I have eaten nothing all day, I fear I will be sick.

Beast.

Dreading what I will find, but desperate to know, I go in search of Beast. He has already called the captains to him and begun telling them what we have learned. I ignore the others, my eyes devouring the ugly face that has grown so dear to me. While it is not one whit prettier and is covered in dark stubble, it bears no marque.

It is all I can do not to whoop with joy, but the marques I see on de Brosse and Lorril sober me. While I knew that men would die in this battle, it is hard—so very hard—to know who will not be returning.

I join Beast and the others at the small map table that Yannic has set up. I glance once at d’Albret’s former jailor and am relieved when I see that he too is unmarqued.

“There are three points of attack,” Beast is saying. “We will send two parties north, to take out the cannon on either side of the bay. Erwan, I will want at least half the party to be your charbonnerie.

“The second defense we will hit is the massive chain they have strung across the narrow mouth of the bay. If we can cut that down, some of the smaller British ships will be able to sail directly into the town quay and disembark there.

“Last, the majority of our forces will strike here. Lazare and Graelon have developed a plan to immobilize most of the French troops.”

Lazare’s thin serious face breaks into a rare smile. “We will smoke them out,” he says.

It is a bold and desperate plan, and because of that it just might work. Under the cover of night, the charbonnerie will bolt the sleeping garrison in, then set fires at two of the windows and direct the smoke to fill the room. That will leave one window—the one with a twenty-foot drop outside the city walls—through which they can escape. Many broken bones will ensue, and not nearly enough deaths to make the men happy, but it is the fastest way to free the town of the troops’ presence so the British can land.

“Have your men catch some sleep,” Beast tells them. “We will move at midnight so we are in place well before dawn and can strike while the French are still unsuspecting.”

As the captains leave to give their men their orders, I move to stand beside Beast. “How do you do it?” I ask, my gaze on the departing men. “Send men to their deaths?”

Beast looks at me, surprised. “You know they will die?”

I nod without looking at him. “De Brosse and Lorril are marqued. As are a dozen other men, including Winnog and Jacques.”

“They are not all traitors.”

“No,” I agree. “They are not. Which is why I ask you: How do you do it?”

He is silent, then, as he watches the men he will send to their deaths. “I have sworn to support the duchess with my life. I do not ask of anyone that which I am not also willing to do. I believe that this cause is worth fighting for.”

“And is it?” I stare at Jacques, who is laughing with Samson and Bruno, boasting of his hoped-for valor in tomorrow’s mission.

Beast is silent a long moment before he speaks. “That is one of the hardest things, and we will not know until later. Sometimes much later.”

We are both quiet awhile, lost in our own separate thoughts. Finally, I turn to him. “What is my role in tomorrow’s assault?”

At his blank look, I fold my arms and scowl at him. “You cannot think I will sit here quietly and wait with the other women?” But I see that is exactly what he had hoped I would do. So he will not suspect how much his concern touches me, I mock him. “You cannot tell a handmaiden of Death that it is too dangerous.”

He sighs and runs his hand over his head. “I suppose I cannot, although I would like to.” He turns to me then, his piercing blue eyes studying me intently. “Could you see a marque on yourself, if there was one?”

“I do not know,” I admit, his question filling me with curiosity. “But you can be sure of one thing. I will not die until d’Albret is defeated. “

The two parties headed for the north of the bay are the first to leave, for they have the farthest to go. Sir Lannion is leading one group, Sir Lorril another. There are as many charbonnerie in the parties as soldiers, for the plan is not only to take out the men guarding the cannon, but also to find a way to disable the cannon themselves. We talk briefly about using them against the French, but there is no way to do that without also injuring the townspeople, and that we are not willing to do.

I cannot take my eyes off the cheerful, gangly Winnog and the faint black marque that sits on his forehead. Against my better judgment, I search out Lazare, who has also been placed on the cannon detail.

At my approach, he eyes me suspiciously. “What?” he asks.

“I want you to keep a close watch on Winnog.”

“Winnog? You are daft if you suspect him of any trickery or deceit.”

“I suspect him of no such thing,” I say sharply. “I tell you because he is marqued for death.”

Lazare’s dark eyes widen in both fear and awe. “You can see such a thing?”

“Yes, that is one of the powers my god has given me.”

Lazare’s gaze drifts upward as if he would look upon his own forehead. I bite back a smile. “You bear no marque,” I tell him. “I do not know if we can outsmart Death, but I am willing to try. Watch him carefully and keep him as safe as the mission allows.”

Lazare gives me a fierce smile. “If there is anyone who can outsmart Death, it is the Dark Mother. I will watch out for Winnog. And thank you.” Our eyes hold for a long moment, then he joins the main party, moving to stand near Winnog.

I cannot save them all, but the innocents, the ones who do not fully understand the duty they have signed up for, those I shall try to save.